


A Second Sunrise

by Satelesque



Series: Alastor/Alastor Week [1]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dungeons & Dragons, Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Banter, Betrayal, Demons, Enemies to Friends, First Kiss, First Meetings, Human Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Illusions, M/M, Magic, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Technically Pathfinder 2e but who's counting, Why Did I Write This?, doppelgangers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25556776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satelesque/pseuds/Satelesque
Summary: At the center of the Plains of Gath lies a tower.  At its crest sits a demon, one who has been warping the tower's magic toward its own nefarious means.  One whom Alastor and his fellow adventurers have been hired to eliminate, but that's only an excuse.  Of much more interest to Alastor is the song that echoes from the tower every night to visit him in his sleep.  It's a song he's been hearing all his life—the one that inspired him to study music and magic and become a bard in the first place—and finally the chance has come to find its source.All entries in this series can be read standalone of each other.
Relationships: Alastor/Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)
Series: Alastor/Alastor Week [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1851988
Comments: 13
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some background knowledge of generic DnD classes/spellcasting/alignments will probably be helpful to understand what's going on. For anyone who wants more specifics, in this fic I'm mostly using Pathfinder 2e rules (i.e. bards are full casters) with dashes of 1e and mostly made up worldbuilding. We are very much not on Golarion.
> 
> Written for an Alastor/human!Alastor week I saw on Tumblr a month ago and decided, hell, why not? I have questionable taste in ships and AU ideas! Let's go for it!  
> Day 1 prompt: Hunting  
> In this case bounty hunting, I guess? Let's call it an abstract take.

At the heart of the plains of Gath stood a tower, one of seven said to reach to the heavens and beyond. It stood older than the human villages, the dwarven mines, and the forest citadels of the elves who had given it its name. Baradosp, the Tower of Smoke. But even the elves admitted its true name was older, its pronunciation lost to time with the celestial tongue. It was carved in ancient runes on pillars of unyielding stone at the tower’s base. The First Word.

The First Song, certain scholars insisted. The words were the same in celestial, but it didn’t matter. The tower didn’t sing anymore. Nor did it smoke, though the elves insisted it had millennia ago. They had the carvings to prove it, images of thick smoke belching from the ruins at its base. Ancient enchantments had once lined the crown of this Tower like they did the others scattered across the world, but this one alone had been shattered at the end of the celestial age, before the time of men or elves. Their magic had long since dissipated, and the tower stood inert, little more than an archaeological site and a home for monsters and demons.

Alastor’s fingers tapped eagerly on the body of his lute as it grew taller on the horizon. His party had long since gone silent, ignoring the hollow  _ thum, thum, thum _ and the singsong of his voice as he waxed poetic on the ancient mystique of the Towers and this one in particular. It was only as evening fell and they made camp for the night that Alastor caught a whisper of complaint.

“Why are we letting  _ him _ come along?” Earl hissed in elven. Even if Alastor truly didn’t speak the tongue as he’d claimed, the sidelong glance would’ve been enough to give Earl away. Alastor gave him a cheery wave before turning back to his tent. The party rogue was normally a bright, vibrant sort. He'd greeted Alastor with a grin and a handshake when they'd first met, but his smile had slipped once he learned Alastor would be joining the party. He'd been on edge ever since.

“He’s a caster,” said Daisy, the ironically named brick of a fighter. “You’ve seen for yourself how useful magic is in a dungeon.”

“Yeah, because we already have Treia! And I’d rather have a cleric backing me up against a demon than a bard.”

Alastor swung the mallet a tad harder than necessary, driving his last tent stake into the ground. No matter how many times it happened, it was never any less frustrating to be underestimated. Before he could complain and get caught in his lie, Daisy jumped to his defense.

“Magic is magic, and you have to admit, he knows the place.”

“So do I by now,” Earl grumbled. “Could write a damn book about it. Point is, I don’t trust the guy.”

“He isn’t evil,” Treia chimed in. “I checked.”

“Yeah, well even I know he’s not good either.”

“No. . .” Treia trailed off, but Daisy jumped in instead.

“No, but I’ll take any help we can get. We don’t know what’s up there, and he can hold his own. You’ve heard the stories.”

Of course they had. Adventurers of their caliber didn’t stay anonymous for long even if they tried, and Alastor certainly hadn’t. Even if they didn’t know him, they knew  _ of _ him. Just as he in turn knew of their band of three.

In their profession it paid to keep an ear to the ground, always on the lookout for trouble and anyone involved in it. It was why they were here, why Alastor had known exactly when the trio were arriving in Gath. It was why Alastor shelled out the coin for a Teleport the day he caught wind of the bounty on the demon at the Tower’s crest, just to make sure he made it in time. He’d have to thank the thing for being enough of a nuisance to finally merit sending a team of adventurers in.

“We’ll reach the Tower tomorrow, you said?”

Earl jumped at Alastor’s sudden question, then again at the arm Alastor threw around his shoulder. For a moment Alastor thought back to make sure he hadn’t asked it in elven. He hadn’t, and Daisy laughed before giving him an answer.

“That’s right. Around mid-afternoon at this pace.”

* * *

The sun still hadn’t risen when a rustle of cloth and jostle of his shoulder woke Alastor from his sleep. “It’s time for your watch,” Daisy whispered, quiet by habit even though the others were on the other side of the camp.

Alastor rubbed the sleep from his eyes and nodded before climbing out of his tent. The campfire was still crackling merrily, fully visible from the tower, but stealth had never been an option. Even if the demon didn’t have informants in Gath, it couldn’t possibly miss them fighting their way up the monster-infested floors of the tower. If it wanted to set up an ambush, it’d wait until they were on its home turf, but it wouldn’t do to get complacent. They still had to keep a watch.

But Daisy didn’t go back to sleep even though her shift was over. She only took a seat by the fire and raised a brow as Alastor pulled a chair from his bag of holding. A reasonable idea, she decided, judging by her nod, then went back to staring into the flames.

“I’m not going to rob you in your sleep, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Alastor said. “Not when we’re so close.”

She at least had the decency to look abashed, but not for the reason Alastor expected. “Was it that obvious what we were arguing about? Sorry about Earl. He’s prickly around strangers, but you can count on him to have your back. And if it’s any consolation, I’m not here to watch you. I can’t sleep.”

“The nightmares?”

She shook her head. “Excited. It’s been months since our last proper dungeon, but what about you? You slept like a log the whole time I was on watch. If you’ve got a charm for dreamless sleep I’ll damn well pay you to cast it on the rest of us.”

“No charm, just experience. I’ve been dreaming of this place for years.” Alastor looked to the east, where the first hints of dawn were just starting to silhouette the base of the Tower. The crown remained pitch black on black, eerily reminiscent of the shared nightmare. All that was missing were the shadows and the singing—the haunting, ethereal chorus that started beautiful until you listened closer. Only then did you realize the chimes were chains, the drums were hammers, the arias were anguished wails, and the shadows the twisting limbs of the great conductor orchestrating it all. “It’s fascinating, really. The song changes every time. It’s been my muse from the start. Never mind the demon, I just want to see for myself what’s up there.”

Daisy gave him a sidelong stare that Alastor ignored, then shook her head and muttered, “No wonder you can’t wait to get there.”

Silence fell besides the crackling of the fire and a few snatches of birdsong that grew louder as the sun rose. For a while Alastor joined them, humming a quiet tune and weaving his hands through the air to cast his daily spells. Mage armor and other protections. That was the benefit of having the last watch, getting the day’s preparations out of the way and being awake and ready to go while everyone else was still groggy and bleary eyed.

And of course today there was the sight of the sun rising behind the Tower of Smoke, casting them for a few minutes in its shadow.

* * *

Every Tower in the world had exactly one hundred floors, all except this one. The destruction of its crown had left it with four fewer, but that was still at least ninety floors filled with monsters and evils before they met the demon who’d taken residence at the top.

The first three floors were empty at least. The brigands and slavers who occasionally used them as a hideout had already been driven out by the nightmares. The first enemies the party faced were the rats who lived in their wake, feeding on the brigands’ supply caches. Liberal application of fire solved that problem quickly enough.

“How many floors do you think we’ll get up today?” Earl asked.

“As many as we can, I daresay,” Treia said. “The less time we spend here, the better.”

The answer was twenty five. After the rats came the giant lizards who fed off the rats, then the giant bats and firewings that hunted across the plains and came to roost in the tower, then finally the first magical monsters. The slimes and oozes that lived off the remains of the creatures below. But it wasn’t the monsters that stopped them. Not injuries, not running low on spells. Not even time.

It was as they crossed the threshold of the twenty sixth floor that they heard it. A chorus of clacking, clinging notes, like an avalanche of bones and bells falling in an impossibly perfect melody. Alastor’s hands were on his lute before he knew it, harmonizing with the tune then switching chords to counter it. The wave of magical terror flowed over and past them as Alastor continued to play, and when it was done Daisy turned and bustled the others back to the floor below.

“It knows we’re here.”

“Well we weren’t exactly sneaking.”

“If its magic can reach us, then—“

“We’ll be perfectly fine,” Alastor interrupted, tapping on his lute. “Don’t run too far ahead, and I can cover for any sound-based enchantments.”

“That’s not the point,” Daisy said. “If it can reach us, then it might try to blindside us in another fight. From now on we stay in formation. Earl, I’ll be in position to flank with you. Treia, stay behind me and close to Al, and keep yourself safe. If anything goes wrong, you can fix it. Al, be on the ready with that counter-magic and help out where you can.”

Earl started hopping up the steps. “That’s settled then. What’re we—?“

“Tomorrow.” Daisy’s voice brooked no argument. “Better safe than sorry. We can live with nightmares for another day.”

* * *

Camp was made that night in a well-appointed sitting room with a balcony overlooking the Plains. Triea had set an alarm spell around the room, so there was little reason to have a watch besides making sure nothing dispelled it or snuck in to slit their throats in their sleep. That suited Al just fine, and he started his shift sitting on the banister, enjoying the brisk air as he kept an eye on the sleeping party.

It was barely a few minutes—barely long enough for Daisy to go to sleep after her shift—before he realized he wasn’t alone. A bright red orb appeared in the air over the sleepers before turning to Alastor and drifting closer. Its iris was slit-pupiled, a paler red than the rest of the eye, and Alastor smiled as it joined him on the balcony.

“Prying Eye?” he muttered. “I know that spell. It’s an invisible scout, so why the illusion on top of it? We already know you’re watching.”

The spell also didn’t transmit sound, but the eye bobbed up and down as if laughing. Not Prying Eye then, but a more potent scrying magic. The illusion was still a mystery.

“It’s you. And I’ll bet you’re the one who countered my spell.”

The voice came from nowhere and everywhere, echoing loud in Alastor’s ear as if the demon was right behind him, but that was impossible. The alarm would have gone off, and besides, it was Alastor’s own voice. The same tone and cadence. The same feigned accent he’d long since adopted for his performances, a voice that always rang familiar but subtly foreign no matter where he traveled. It was his voice but wrong, layered with distortion that might have been from the ventriloquism spell or from the demon casting it.

And it didn’t stop there. The illusion warped. A second eye faded in beside the first, a crescent smile underneath, and the rest of a body around them. It was more of the same but not, Alastor’s reflection turned demonic. Sharp teeth, ears, and horns. Red eyes, hair, and tunic over a black shirt, like an eccentric take on Alastor’s own merchants’ attire.

It walked up to Alastor as if to push him off the railing, but Alastor only tipped his head back to look it in the eyes. “It is me,” Alastor said. “But my, I didn’t think the songs had reached to the top of the Tower! I suppose I should feel honored to be recognized, but so should you to meet me! Or maybe you already do.” Alastor looked the illusion up and down again. The resemblance was truly uncanny, accurate all the way down to its posture.

This time the voice came from the illusion. “Honored to meet you? No, I can’t say I am, but this  _ is _ fascinating. A bard, eh?” The illusion leaned closer, its eyes scanning across Alastor’s face as if the demon was actually looking through them. Its hand hovered inches from his chest, black fingers tipped with red claws.

“A bard who could cast Fly even if you could push me, but you do have me at a disadvantage. Not even the council had a name to give us, so what should I call you?”

The illusion shoved its hand forward, and Alastor didn’t so much as flinch as it passed through his chest. Its grin only widened as it spun and took a seat by him on the balustrade.

“You can call me Alastor.”

Alastor tipped his head and slid his brows into an unamused line. “No, I don’t think I will. There’s a limit to mimicry, and just imagine how confusing the ballads will be!”

“Mimicry? Oh, I’m not mimicking you, and you already have an answer for our names, don’t you Al? You have a nickname, even among your party there! Besides, I’m centuries older and you’re in  _ my _ home. The least you could do is have the decency to call me by my name.” Alastor’s irritation faded to skepticism, and the demon chuckled. “Never you mind the odds. There’s no such thing as coincidence, and there’s a reason we were both drawn here.”

“The First Song.”

“Indeed. You should see what’s waiting for you at the top of it.” The demon looked up, through the dozens of floors to where its real body stood. Then it looked back and held a hand out, its fingertips hovering inches from Alastor’s forehead. “I can show you if you let me.”

Let a demon cast unknown spells on him while the cleric was asleep and he was alone on watch? It was begging to be Dominated. “I think I’d rather come see it with my own eyes.”

“Suit yourself,” the demon said, but it didn’t vanish, not like Alastor expected. It’s ploy had failed, but it was still waiting, still focused on him as if memorizing every detail.

‘Like what you see?’ another bard might have asked, with lidded eyes and a sultry smile. ‘Keep staring and I’ll tear your eyes out,’ Alastor might have said if there was any use threatening an illusion.

Eventually he settled on, “If you’re going to look, you might as well listen too. It’d be better with music, but I’d rather not wake the sleepers if you’re not about to kill any of us. And why would you when you’d miss the tale of a certain over-curious bard caught in a turf war between three clans of werewolves?”

It was a story Alastor had told many times before—a tale of danger, subterfuge, and a subtle trick that had all three clans tearing each other apart, leaving the bard to reap the rewards. He timed it perfectly to end as sunlight started creeping its way down the side of the tower.

“The sunrise in this realm is beautiful,” the demon said as the story ended and the silence stretched on. “Especially from up high. Keep climbing. I’ll be waiting for you.”

Alastor turned around on the balustrade, kicking his legs over hundreds of feet of empty space. “And today you get the chance to see it twice. So is it day already, or do you wait to call it until all your eyes are in the sun?”

“It’s day,” the demon said, then turned to follow even though it didn’t matter, even though his scrying spell was likely omnidirectional. “This is only a spell and only a minute’s difference anyway. But yesterday it was two, and it’ll be less and less as you get closer.”

That was implying the demon planned for a repeat visit tomorrow and had been watching quietly the morning before. “Why are you here?” Alastor asked. There hadn’t been any more attempts to enchant him. No threats against the rest of the party. No attempts to question Alastor about their spells or tactics. All the demon had done was listen along to the story, humming and laughing along in all the wrong places. Not the ones the usual bar crowd loved but the ones that were Alastor’s own favorites.

The sunlight finally reached their floor, limning the demon in gold as he turned to Alastor. It glinted in his eyes and across hair sent fluttering by the morning breeze. The sight was uncanny, the illusion so familiar, so wrong, yet so beautiful that Alastor knew he would never forget the sight of it.

“Have you ever heard of doppelgängers?” the demon asked, and Alastor barely got a word out before he was gone.

“What are you—?” Alastor started, but he was left staring at a wisp of smoke as footsteps came up behind him.

“Al? Who were you talking to?”

Alastor spun back around and hopped off the handrail to shoot Daisy a disarming smile. “Myself! It’s wonderful inspiration watching the sunrise from up here, and I was sounding out a set of lyrics for our last day’s adventure. Now, it’s about time to get going, I think! The rest of the song won’t write itself!”

* * *

The party covered another sixteen floors before settling in for an evening of rest and a night’s sleep. The lower floors of beasts and slimes gave way to groups of ghosts and spirits, and it wasn’t long until Treia was asking to stop.

“These spirits deserve to be put to rest.”

Daisy hefted her sword. “Right. That’s what we’ve been doing.”

“No, no. You’ve merely dispelled their essence. This ground needs to be consecrated. I’ll prepare the spells tomorrow.” She refused to take another step forward, and the party made camp in an old library, its books long since looted or rotted. Tall stained glass windows lined its outer wall, and as Al’s shift started he sat on the bench beneath one and pulled a scroll from his bag, still wondering what he was doing. He murmured the words under his breath, low enough to avoid waking anybody, and the air shimmered as the scroll dissolved in his hands. A few strums on his lute confirmed the Zone of Silence had taken effect, and as Al waited he improvised a carefree melody that didn’t fit the mood in the slightest. His fingers came to a stop halfway through, and he opened his eyes to see the demon sitting on the bench next to him, staring at him with a smile.

“Alastor.”

“Al.”

That name on the demon’s tongue felt like a diminutive, but Al forced the thought aside. “So, my doppelgänger is a demon. I always thought I’d be the evil twin,” he said instead.

“Who’s to say you’re not? I know what spells you cast every morning. Undetectable Alignment, hm?” Alastor smirked and leaned closer, as if that was a threat. “But why bother? Why play the adventurer?”

Al smiled and leaned in to match. “Name another job that would have brought me here, and don’t say archaeologist. It doesn’t have nearly the same perks. Traveling the land, uncovering conspiracies, fame, fortune, nobody batting an eye if I kill a few bandits. All in self-defense, of course.”

“Fair enough. It does make for a good alibi, but why a bard? You don’t seem the type.”

There it was. The same old stereotype, yet again. “Not a womanizer?” Al sighed and pulled back, but Alastor waved a hand as if to dismiss the thought entirely.

“Not a team player. You’ll perform for your party, but you’d rather be out there yourself, wouldn’t you? Lute and dagger, you against the world and winning.”

“Why of course, but if someone wants to stick their sword between me and my enemies, I won’t complain.”

“No. Not out loud, but you do hate it. Slimes and spirits? You don’t need your friends to take care of them. Go on. Climb ahead and let them waste their time consecrating. There’s nothing in this tower you couldn’t kill one on one, and you know it.”

The demon was right. As a powerful caster, there were few beings in the world that could threaten Al. Certainly none of the creatures in this tower, or they wouldn’t be so willingly subservient to a demon. Of course there was the obvious exception. “Nothing besides you.”

Alastor grinned. “Naturally.”

“Then what’s to stop you from teleporting down and stabbing me in the back?”

“Oh nothing. But I won’t kill you with a dagger.”

Alastor flexed his claws as his hand glowed red with demonic magic, and Al couldn’t stop the shiver that ran down his spine. “What a compelling argument! I’d head up right away, but it’d be such a waste of my scroll. How would you like a song instead?”

“A song for me? I think I could settle,” Alastor said and turned on the bench. He leaned back, his head coming to rest across Al’s knees, and even though it was an illusion Al tensed at the intrusion in his space. There was no weight—no pressure of touch—but the demon used his presence as a weapon just the same as Al did. He could feel his heart beating faster at the thought.

“I hope you don’t mind if I improvise,” Al said but started with a familiar tavern ditty nonetheless. Within minutes his hands were at home on the strings, his eyes closed as the music became his focus. The tune drifted from drinking songs to a marching tune to soft campfire melodies like an island of calm in the wilderness. Al’s eyes flicked open, and he almost jumped at the reminder of Alastor’s head in his lap. The demon’s eyes were closed, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t watching. He’d only shifted the illusion, letting Al know that. . .that what exactly? That he liked the song? That it brought even him a measure of peace?

The tune shifted as Al looked on. Chords wandered into the minor key as if following the path of the nightmare. There was a slow slide into darkness as the tune turned haunting. It was the sound of shadows curling from the ruined crown of the Tower, the song of unknown magics from before the dawn of time, but it was never dread. It dipped low, only a note away from horror, then flew up and away. No terror. No fear of the dark, only standing head held high and looking to the heights of the Tower in awe.

Alastor’s eyes slid open, but practice and an affinity for music kept Al’s hands steady on the strings. A song for the demon. A melody worthy of those red eyes staring up at him, worthy of Al’s equal because Alastor was nothing less. His doppelgänger. His final obstacle to the top of the Tower where Al’s muse awaited him. Every journey deserved a fitting climax, and this was the being that would give Al his. He deserved nothing short of a magnum opus, but the lute was the wrong instrument. Al danced between melodies, iterating on a few with the right ring and memorizing them to recompose later. The demon’s grin widened with every one until suddenly it softened.

“It’s a shame you have to die,” Alastor said. His words had all their usual menace, but beneath them lay what sounded like genuine regret. “It’s a shame you were drawn here. Doppelgängers are never meant to meet, and when they do, they’re destined to kill each other. You’ll finish your song before the end, won’t you?”

A hint of melancholy slipped into Al’s play before he caught himself. “It’ll be the last song you ever hear,” he said. “I’ll make sure it’s perfect.”

There were no more words after that, and Al found he’d lost the melody. His play meandered for a few minutes until sunlight started filtering through the windows and Alastor raised a hand to catch the colored light. Al’s song settled into one of simple joys and good company, and he played on as the sleepers began to stir and Alastor vanished again.

Earl wasn’t the first awake, but he was first to open his eyes. “What?” he muttered, rubbed sleep from them, and jumped to his feet in fury. “What do you think you’re doing?” he shouted. “There’s no point in keeping watch if you can’t raise the alarm!”

The zone of silence disappeared with a thought, and Al finished a measure of his song before replying.

“Would you rather I wake you up with my playing? No? Then don’t complain about spells you don’t understand or next time I really will let the intruders stab you before dispelling it.”

* * *

The party covered another twenty one floors that day. The ghosts soon gave way to chromatic slimes and elementals that fed off the residual magic in the tower. Energy resistance spells staved off the worst of the damage, and by midday the party had climbed high enough to meet the first of the demons. They were little more than minor imps and hellhounds, the hangers-on that tended to flock where their more powerful kin set up territory. None of them put up much of a fight, and for a while it was looking like another twenty five floor day.

It was early in the evening that the tower shuddered. Not physically but with a wave of magic that had Al and Treia looking up to its heights in search of answers. None came, but the hum of tension through the Tower settled in deeper than ever.

“Stop,” Treia ordered, holding up a hand. She turned to Al. “What was that?”

It wasn’t hard to hazard a guess. “I told you the enchantment at the top was destroyed, but that’s not all there is to this place. The crown was the focus, but the whole tower is held together with webs of spellwork. He must be connecting them.”

“Is that how it causes the nightmares?”

“Obviously. All the Towers sit on leyline junctions,” Al explained. “He’s using it to extend his magic, but I couldn’t begin to guess why. Why bother giving a town nightmares? Unless it’s a test. . .” Al trailed off as Treia fixed him with a curious stare.

“’He?’”

The others still referred to the demon as ‘it.’ It was a slip but one Al could cover for easily. “Oh, it’s for the ballad. It does wonders for dramatic stakes to personify an enemy, but . . . hm. Do you think ‘she’ would be better?”

“Do demons even have genders?” Daisy asked.

“Of course they do,” Earl chipped in. “Haven’t you ever heard of succubi? ‘Course their true forms are horrible monsters, but when they’re on our plane, they play by our rules.”

“Earl,” Treia said, sounding impressed. “I never knew you’d made such a study of demonology!”

“He’s made a study of succubi anyway,” Daisy joked.

“You ladies just don’t get it. It’s all a metaphor. Every story about succubi’s really about broads so hot you stop thinking with your brain. Just one time they talk you into sleeping with them, and you might as well be dead. Isn’t that right, Al?”

Al had spent enough time singing in pubs to know the songs, the ones about succubi and the ones that weren’t. The parallels were obvious, but those were only stories. “I’ll let you in on a trade secret, Earl,” Al said. “The songs aren’t real, especially if a bard tells you they are. Everyone stretches the truth, but if you think a pretty face is all it’d take to kill you . . .well.”

Even as he said it, the image of Alastor on that first morning flashed behind Al’s eyes. Pretty didn’t begin to describe it, but Al had kept his head. He hadn’t acceded to any of his requests, and he wasn’t covering for the demon now. He was covering for himself. Better to explain the doppelgänger situation after the demon was dead, like asking forgiveness instead of permission.

But before the hum of magic through the Tower could fade to something subliminal, Al took a deep breath and remembered to ask about it later. His moment came that morning, when Daisy woke him for his watch in a high-ceilinged hall that might have once been a church or an auditorium. Al’s whispers echoed between the walls as he cast from the scroll as quietly as he could. The demon appeared just moments after he was done, as good a proof as any that Al hadn’t woken anyone, and finally he could get some answers.

“Tell me what you’re doing.” He phrased it as a demand.

“Here and now or in general?” Alastor asked then narrowed his eyes. “And why should I?”

“Simple,” Al said. “Because I want you to and you have nothing to lose. If you still think you can kill me, then think of it as my dying wish. I want to know how my killer—how my doppelgänger will live on. And if I kill you, then your work will be lost unless you tell me what it was.”

“A favor then, in exchange for my song. Can you read celestial?”

Alastor didn’t wait for an answer before glowing runes trailed from his fingers and wrapped around into a model of the Tower. The brightest ribbons gathered at the top then fractured and fell to the floor.

“Each of the celestials’ Towers was attuned to an element of magic, but this one—The First Song, the Tower of sound—was the only one they destroyed when the mortal races were born. Something about preserving your free will, or so the stories go.” Alastor rolled his eyes as the light faded from the fallen runes, ignoring or not noticing perhaps that Al’s eyes had gone wide.

“What stories?”

“You didn’t know? Oh you mortals. No cultural memory whatsoever.” Alastor shook his head and turned back to the tower. “You of all humans should know. Sound has always been tied to enchantments, and the Tower let its controllers cast them for miles around. The worst The First Spark can do is blast its radius to ash and dust, but The First Song would let you control anyone who so much as stepped in range. But that’s beside the point!” He waved a hand at the broken crown of the tower. “There’s no fixing it even if I raise the stones and rewrite the runes. The magic’s gone, but the Tower can still work as an amplifier.”

For a few seconds Al just stared as Alastor prodded at the illusory tower, making slight adjustments to the runes. “That’s it? Your evil plan is to build a signal tower?” Despite himself he couldn’t keep the grin out of his voice.

“You make it sound so benign!” Alastor grinned back. “But I’m not here to broadcast songs and weather reports, at least not all the time. Even if the Tower can’t cast magic, it can still extend it. Your two martial friends couldn’t do a thing even if it was fixed, but a powerful enchanter will have plenty means to dip into the darker end of the alignment grid.”

“So that’s what you’ve been doing? Fixing it? How?”

“Exactly! For decades now, and I’ll show you!” Alastor said, and for the next hour his voice filled the zone of silence as he traced the broken ends of the enchantments and the bridges he’d made to reconnect them. The illusory tower zoomed in as he spoke, pointing out individual lines of celestial text and the places where Alastor had joined them like a puzzle. Like piecing together shattered glass. No wonder it had taken so long to get this far.

The only shame was that the zone of silence wouldn’t work in reverse, that Al couldn’t put it up around the sleepers and listen to Alastor’s voice ringing back at him from every corner of the hall. This was the first night Alastor had spoken so extensively, and with every word it became easier to think of the demon’s voice as his own, not just Al’s but warped.

“So why the nightmares? Why now?” Al asked as the demon rounded up his explanation. “Don’t tell me it really is a test, not after all those years only killing a couple dozen villagers. Why draw attention now?”

“Because there’s no way to avoid it.” Alastor pointed and the illusion zoomed in closer than ever on a crack within a fractured rune. Most of it changed color, glowing a pale blue, but the crack itself stayed red, like mortar between stones. “I’ve been filling in the gaps with my own magic, but the tower picks up on it. Like interference.” He tapped a finger to his throat. Like the distortion in his voice.

“Have you tried countering it?”

“A counterspell? That would only dispel the—“

“No, no. You said it’s sound magic, so a countersong might work, like I used on your spell. Add a couple chords and you change the melody.” Al demonstrated with a brief tune on his lute, but Alastor only stared.

“I think I’ll save you for last,” he finally said, as low and serious as Al had ever heard him. As low and serious as he likely ever got. “I won’t even kill you, not unless you force my hand. You decide. Your life or one simple spell? I promise it won’t hurt. You might even enjoy it. We can do it now if you’d like. Save ourselves the wait.”

Alastor held his hand out to shake, and despite his racing heart Al looked him in the eye and smiled. “But what about your song? I haven’t finished it yet, and if I’m Dominated I doubt I’ll be inspired enough to do it justice.”

Alastor’s hand pulled back with a snap that echoed through their bubble. “Blast, how could I forget the song? I suppose I’ll have to wait until after the fight. Don’t you dare get killed early.”

“Of course not,” Al said. “It’s such a shame it won’t work the other way. My spell on you, but I don’t think my party here will take kindly to me having a demon at my beck and call.”

Alastor let out a laugh. “Or to you continuing my work, for that matter. You won’t finish it without me, not before you die, and then what? Will you write down for the scholars? It only takes a few self-righteous do-gooders to burn every copy into ash and destroy all you’ve built. You should join me and save yourself the trouble.”

“Or  _ you _ could save me the trouble and kill the others first, like you said. After they’ve worn you down, you can choose. Your life or one simple spell.”

* * *

The next day flew by in little more than a blink, or so it felt. Al still cracked wise and joked, but automatically. He still fought, still played songs to embolden his allies, still cast his shadows and illusions, but it was hardly worth remembering the hordes of nameless demons. There was only one name he bothered committing to memory, if only for the songs. Leitharia, the succubus who claimed to rule the upper floors, but only insofar as she stayed out of Alastor’s way. The party covered another twenty floors that day, coming to a stop three floors before Leitharia’s seat on the eighty-fifth.

Al barely paid attention to the camp they set, barely tasted his food as he ate his rations dry instead of cooking them into a stew. It was still better than the bland mash Treia conjured, and he went to sleep early in hopes that night would pass more quickly into morning.

He didn’t expect the voice that woke him up. “Rise and shine!” Alastor sang in his ear, and Al’s blanket tangled around his legs as he tried to scramble away. The demon only laughed though, making no attempts to attack him or cast or avoid waking anyone up. A dreadful thought crossed Al’s mind, and he cast his gaze around the camp. So signs of violence. No sight or smell of blood, and he could see Treia’s hair swaying with her breathing where she sat, asleep on her watch.

“What did you do?” Al asked. If Alastor was unconcerned enough about them waking up to speak freely, then it wasn’t an ordinary sleep.

“Oh, only a mild poison in their porridge. They’ll wake up around midday no worse for the wear and having learned an important lesson. Don’t let the bard distract you into leaving your meal unattended.”

When had that happened? Al tried to think back then decided it didn’t matter. “So what’s the plan?” he asked instead. “We get a few extra hours to chat? I can’t complain, but it seems like a lot of effort to go through. We’ll have all the time we want in a few days, one way or another.”

“A chat? If that’s what you want,” Alastor said. “This is my gift to you, so do with it as you choose. It’s a deep sleep, but it’s only sleep. You can wake them now, or we can talk until they wake by themselves.  _ Or. . .” _ His voice pitched high on the word, removing any doubt that this was the option he wanted. “You can go on ahead. Climb the tower. Kill Leitharia. You know I won’t harm you, not until I’ve heard my song, so there’s nothing to be afraid of. Nothing but a power-hungry succubus and her attendants, but I’m sure you can handle that little nuisance for me.”

Al sighed as he started packing up his bedroll. Either way he wouldn’t be getting any more sleep tonight. “Oh, so she’s a nuisance to you now? Are you sure I’m not just doing you a favor?”

“Now that was a quick decision,” Alastor said, and only then did Al notice the flaw in his phrasing. No conditions. No hypotheticals. His mind was made before he’d even realized. He stored his bedroll and pulled out another ration bar as Alastor paced around him. “You’re absolutely right. Leitharia’s been making a pest of herself for weeks, complaining that the nightmares are making it hard to entice people. Never to my face, of course, but she knows I can hear her. Getting rid of her is a favor you’d be doing me anyway, so the only difference is who gets the reward. If it’s split four ways, then it’s not worth the trouble, but if it’s yours alone, then I’ll be sure to find something to repay you.”

Alastor leaned in close for the last words, hovering behind Al and murmuring them right next to his ear, and Al almost choked on his breakfast. He cleared his throat as he walked forward to the edge of the alarm spell’s radius. It would be effortless to cross that line, to walk out and leave himself fully at Alastor’s mercy, with only the promise of a song to defend him. It wouldn’t be the first time Al had counted on his music as his only shield, and he stepped past it with only a second of hesitation.

“A favor, eh? You’ll give me more than that once you’re under my spell.”

“And you’ll be begging me for more when you’re under mine,” Alastor said and fell into step beside him.

“Oh, this is brilliant. Why would anyone want to kill their doppelgänger and miss out on all this fun?”

For the life of him Al didn’t know how sarcastic he meant those words to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The single worst thing about writing this ship is managing names.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Day 2's prompt is Crime/Running from the Police. I'm not writing anything specifically for it, so I guess I'll just say this counts. It sort of works if you squint and look from the side.
> 
> **Warning** for brief aphobia.

Alastor dismissed his illusion when Al reached the top of the stairs, or at least the visible portion. His voice hovered by Al’s ear, an eerie feeling like the demon was still behind him, still leaning over his shoulder but gone the moment Al turned to check. His words didn’t help at all. “Don’t worry Al, I’m still watching. I wouldn’t want to scare anyone off. Or worse, make them think we’re allies.” He trailed off with a laugh.

No, that they certainly weren’t. Not allied, only agreed to a temporary ceasefire to deal with mutual nuisances. Al with Alastor’s and Alastor with Al’s, and only then would they have their showdown. The parallel was beautiful, and it put an extra hint of viciousness behind Al’s shortsword as he fought his way up the three floors separating his sleeping party from Lietharia’s seat. It had Al layering his spells more artfully than ever between his attacks. He pointed a finger and wove a chant into his lyrics, and a group of imps froze as the magic passed over them. A pair died on the spot, one blinked and recovered only to meet Al’s blade, and another three fell to their knees, blank-eyed and cowering.

“What do they see?” Alastor asked in his ear.

“A meteor storm destroying the Tower,” Al sang, turning to face another imp who’d escaped the spell’s range.

“Ha! It’d take more than that, but aren’t you being too liberal with your spells? Leitharia still waits.”

“I’m a spellcaster, not a—” He snarled as the imp got a lucky cut at his side. Al repaid it with a stab through its chest then continued, dropping out of song. “Not a fighter. And only a passable healer.”

The cowering imps barely looked up as he finished them off, and with that the room was clear. Al paused for a minute to check his injury, but it wasn’t deep. Not worth using a spell or a potion, not after he’d already used a few to recover from the floors below. He hadn’t expected to run into a group of servants outside the throne room, but these looked to be the last. A bandage around his side and a quick spell to clean the blood from his shirt would be enough. There’d be time to mend the tear later, and Al walked toward the double doors that almost certainly led to Leitharia.

“She’ll try to read your mind when you go in,” Alastor said. “You should let her.”

Al stopped mid-stride and looked to his side, as if Alastor was standing there and could see the confusion on his face. “Why?”

“Because it’ll be much more fun.”

It was enough reason not to argue, but Al kept the conversation going anyway. “For her, me, or you?”

“For all of us.” 

“And if it’s not Mind Reading she casts?”

Alastor’s voice dipped low and dark and no less amused than ever. “If she tries anything that would take you from me, I’ll kill her myself.”

“Then it’s settled!” Al said, not quite managing to keep the tightness out of his voice. He checked his pockets and belt before putting his hands on the door—sword, dagger, scroll cases, all in place—and pushing it open.

The throne room was small, all things considered. Thick red curtains lined the walls and carpeted the floor, and on the far end was less a throne than a pile of cushions. Leitharia didn’t sit so much as drape herself across it, her black hair and carefully parted dress rolling down to the floor.

“You were brave to come alone, boy,” she said, and as she snapped her fingers Al felt a brush against his mind. He put up no walls, and as it passed Leitharia sat up straighter on her throne. “Alastor?”

“Which one?” Al asked and watched her confusion deepen as vague thoughts of souls and doppelgängers flew through his head. After a second she seemed to give up, giving her head a shake and replacing her frown with a sly smile.

“Oh, I see. He’s taken a break from playing with his rocks and found a toy of his own. No wonder he’s curious. You look so much like him. Sound like him too.” Her legs lifted off the arm of her throne and touched down in front of her, but they weren’t bare anymore. Al followed the boots up to a red tunic and a very familiar face. Her voice sounded like Al’s for the first few words before she could mimic Alastor’s distortion. “I wonder if you’ll taste like him.”

“He let you eat—?” Al started, then noticed the succubus’ heavy-lidded stare. “Oh. He let you kiss him?” The question still came out incredulous by the end. The words were ridiculous, and that seductive gaze was completely out of place on Alastor.

“Oh, he let me taste more than that,” she said, and Al burst out laughing. Absolutely not. It was impossible to associate those words in any way with Alastor, and Al grinned and looked up to the ceiling.

“Alastor,” he said into the air. “I’m expecting two favors after this. One for killing her, and one for paying her back for putting those words in your mouth.”

“So he is watching. . .” Leitharia trailed off. Her eyes went wide as they flew to Al’s side. “You’re injured.”

Sure enough, spots of red were soaking through the clumsy bandage and seeping into the white of his tunic. Al looked down to check, and as he looked up, his breath caught. That was much better. That look belonged on Alastor’s face—those bright eyes, hyperfocus, and bloodthirst. Those eyes were a problem, and as Alastor’s gaze met his, Al remembered the mind reading and swallowed.

“Now isn’t that interesting? I knew I picked you for a reason.” Alastor stood, and his movements were perfect. The spring in his step, the fluidity as he strode forward and leaned in close, and Al, not to be outdone, leaned in to match. It was only a succubus, Al knew, but that menace in Alastor’s eyes at finding something new to play with was just as captivating as ever. It was only the succubus’ influence, but part of him wanted those claws to keep dancing along his side because there was no way he could let the real Alastor touch him. A spell cast through sound was one Al could counter, but at this range. . .

“That’s right,” Alastor said as his other hand snaked around Al’s neck. “He may be pretty, but he’ll never touch you like I can. I can give you so much more than—” She leaned in closer, barely an inch between their lips, then pulled away with a screech. Her hands clenched around the dagger in her side—cold iron, anathema to demons. She looked up with a hiss, her face twisted into a grimace, and with that, the spell was broken.

“You don’t know, do you?” Al’s grin only widened as he took in the sight. The fractured charade, the deeper red on red of the blood soaking through her clothes, the dagger he’d reached for by instinct the moment she got too close. “You don’t know anything. Not what he wants, not what I want, and nothing of what we can give each other.”

Perhaps she knew some of it now. Images flashed through Al’s mind of the two of them working together, of the Tower completed, of luring in hapless passerby and taking turns having their fun. Of long nights of music and magic and watching the sun rise from the top of the world. Of Al finally finding his muse as Alastor watched.

Then Al looked across to the succubus and the horrid grimace she was putting on Alastor’s face and his thoughts shifted. Never mind Al’s minor victory, that face was wrong with a frown. It was an insult to Alastor, and if she insisted on wearing it, Al would carve his smile into her cheeks himself.

But Leitharia didn’t shapeshift back. Instead she forced a grin and a laugh as she pulled the dagger from her gut. “Oh, no. It’s you who doesn’t know.” She swung the blade between her fingers before letting it fall with a clatter. “Sharp instincts, but you’re not afraid, are you? No, not afraid, only shy. Nervous. You don’t know how it feels to lie with a lover, but I can show you. I wouldn’t keep you long. What I’m offering is something you can’t give each other. Something he’ll never give you but I know you want. There’s not a thought in your head that doesn’t revolve around him.”

As she said it, Al could feel a hint of magic lifting away. The mind reading spell only lasted a minute, and Al let his expression relax into a friendly smile. She didn’t flinch as Al walked forward. The grin on her face was wide and inviting, and it truly was tempting to stay and bask in Alastor’s presence, but that was exactly why Al was here. To kill Leitharia and spend the day doing just that.

“That’s right, dear,” she said, resting her hands on his shoulders. “Just let go. I’m sure he won’t mind waiting a night, and you’ll have so much to teach him.” Her hands slid down Al’s back to pull him into an embrace, and Al spoke a few quick words and flicked his wrist. The fallen dagger flew back to his hand as he stabbed it forward. The succubus let out another shriek, but this time she stumbled back clutching her head.

“No,” Al said. “I’m sure he won’t. We could have been at the top tomorrow, but he sent me here to fight you. Alone against a succubus, and now I know why. I hope you’re enjoying the show.” He looked up, aiming his words to the ceiling, then looked back down. Leitharia’s shapeshift was starting to slip. She lowered her hands, and behind them, her eyes were their old green on black. A blink flipped them back to red, but it was impossible to see Alastor in that outraged glare.

“How are you—? How did you resist? No one rejects me. No one but. . .” She raised a hand, looked at her palm, and laughed. “Oh, of course. No one for him but someone just as broken.”

The insult would’ve flown wide even if it hadn’t come from a failure of a succubus, and Al laughed up at the ceiling. “Oh, Alastor! Did you hear that? A direct insult! That sounds to me like favor number three.”

“Kill him!” she screamed. “Boys! A dance for the one who kills him!”

The curtains shifted aside, revealing four guards or paramours or both, but Al was already pulling out a scroll. With a few words, a wave of energy streamed out and away, settling in a wide sphere around their floor of the Tower. The demons blinked, looking amongst each other in confusion, then finally to their boss. As for Leitharia, the horror on her face was priceless, even with the downside of it technically being on Alastor’s.

“What’s wrong?” Al sang. “You weren’t going to help them kill me? Don’t tell me you thought you could teleport away! We came here prepared to kill Alastor! What chance does a mere succubus have?”

* * *

The answer was none. Leitharia’s corpse lay in the middle of the room, transformed back to her original shape and slowly disintegrating into blood and ashes. Al drifted forward with the last of his flight spell, intending to sit in the throne and wait for his friends, but he collapsed into it instead. It was for the best. The chair was designed to lounge in, and Al closed his eyes for a minute to catch his breath. When he opened them again, Alastor was staring down at him.

“I’ll give you two favors,” he said. “One for killing her, and the other for putting on a show before you did. It was very. . .informative.” His fingers wandered down, floating over Leitharia’s claw marks, and Al chuckled before the movement made him wince.

“Oh, please. I know you’re not here for the same reason she couldn’t teleport out.” It was the same reason Al couldn’t drink any of his potions. The dimensional lock he’d cast also blocked access to extradimensional storage. Al’s bag of holding was nothing but ordinary canvas.

“No, but you want me to be.”

There was no denying that, not with everything Leitharia had shown. So that was why Alastor had told him to let her read his mind. “If you do, bring a healing potion,” Al said.

“Why don’t you heal yourself?” Alastor asked. “I know you have spells left.”

Had he been—of course he’d been counting. “And leave myself with nothing but cantrips in my defense? What if someone comes to check on her?” Al nodded toward Leitharia’s corpse.

“You have a cleric, don’t you? I’m sure she could resurrect you.” Al shot him an unimpressed stare, and Alastor laughed. “Here’s a better idea. If any demon dares step inside this room, I’ll kill them before they touch so much as a hair on your head.”

With some effort, Al raised his hand, and Alastor’s phased through it in a makeshift handshake. “It doesn’t count toward a favor unless you do kill someone,” he muttered, then hummed a tune and drew a pattern in the air. Soothing magic closed the worst of his cuts, and after a few weaker casts, that was it. No more spells for the day besides the weak, effortless ones.

“How are you going to kill them if you’re not here?” Al asked.

Alastor leaned closer, ringed by a faint red glow. “You’re not underestimating me, are you? I could kill you in a breath.”

“After you persuaded me to fight a succubus and her entourage alone then use the rest of my spells healing myself? I’d be offended if you couldn’t.”

“Oh, would you?” Alastor spun and dropped onto the throne, never mind that his illusion was passing through Al’s stomach. If Al had been less tired, he might have flinched. Instead he only raised a brow as Alastor reached toward him. His fingers moved across his forehead as if to smooth his hair into place, but of course they only phased through. “I could be here if you’d prefer,” Alastor said. “Just say the word, and it’ll only take a minute.”

It was the second time Alastor had brought it up, and that in itself was strange. “Are you waiting for permission? Did you want me to ask you to come down here, get stuck when my party arrives, kill them all while I can’t do a thing about it, and leave me with nothing but a song to defend myself? If that’s what you decide, then I can’t stop you, but I won’t doom myself by inviting you.”

“Would it really be so terrible to be mine? I wouldn’t hurt you.” Alastor leaned over, his face barely a foot from Al’s, but his eyes flicked down to Al’s bloodstained tunic. “Much,” he added. “It certainly beats dying.”

“Yes, it would be so terrible,” Al answered and rolled his eyes, but he cut the motion short to meet Alastor’s gaze again. It was impossible to break eye contact for more than a fraction of a second. “And if you are my doppelgänger, then you’ll know why. You’ll know exactly how much you’d hate being mine.” Al’s hand reached up to curl around what would have been Alastor’s neck, but the barely healed cut on his shoulder meant he couldn’t hold it there for long. He waited just long enough to see the glint of tension in Alastor’s eyes before letting it fall back to the cushions. “Do you think the others would’ve done the same if they could cast Dominate, or is this just us defying nature again?”

It wouldn’t be the first time. There they were, unbound by the unspoken rules of romance or civility or even the fate of other doppelgängers. Among the mortal races, there was supposed to be an instinctive revulsion at the sight of demons, alluring ones like succubi notwithstanding. The creatures were personifications of evil, chaos, and societal collapse, and even the weakest imps could slaughter an untrained human. The revulsion was mirrored right back with a deep condescension toward the mortal races and their orderly, cooperative social structures.

“A human and a demon and doppelgängers to boot, and I still don’t want to kill you,” Al muttered and swallowed a yawn. The short night and exhausting day were starting to catch up to him, and his eyelids felt heavy as he forced himself to make eye contact. “What’re the odds?”

“Better than you’d think if you have been listening from the start. Not just a human, but a bard! I wonder if it’s in our nature or if it really was my fault.” Al’s brows furrowed, but Alastor went on before he could get a word out. “Most demons hate music, you know. It’s just another of your petty social tools, but most of them have never heard a real song. The industry isn’t exactly thriving in Hell. The only instruments you’ll get are voices, skin drums, and the odd bone flute. You’ll teach me to play that when you reach the top, won’t you?”

Al raised his head just far enough to see Alastor pointing to his lute, then nodded and let it fall back as his eyes slid closed. Alastor was still talking, going on about music and life in Hell and how he really should pay a visit one of these years, but it was all white noise as Al curled deeper in the cushions and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

“Al! Alastor!”

Al woke with a start and a growing pit in his stomach before he realized he couldn’t see Alastor anywhere. Daisy had been shouting at him.

“Oh good, you’re alive! Treia, you can fix him up, right?”

Treia took a step forward before Earl barred her way. “Hold on a second. Check him for magic first. Make sure he’s not dominated or a shapeshifter.”

“Oh, please. I think I’ve proven I’m the most reliable of us all.” Al rolled his eyes but sat still for the examination anyway.  _ “I _ didn’t get myself poisoned and sleep the day away while  _ someone _ fought and killed Leitharia, now did I?” Al pointed at the pile of bones that remained of her, but Earl only narrowed his eyes.

“Yeah? And why didn’t you wake us up?”

“I tried,” Al lied. “It was too deep, so I went ahead.”

Daisy shook her head. “You should have stayed. What if someone attacked us?”

“Ha! From where? The floors we just cleared or the floors I just cleared?” Al hopped to his feet and smirked to cover a wince. “You might hold a shield, but I belong to the other camp, the one that knows the best defense is a good offense. The moment they realized we’d stopped climbing, they’d smell weakness. It’d be as good as asking for an ambush.”

“He’s safe,” Treia said and started chanting the words of a healing spell. Al’s breath came easier and his posture straightened as his wounds sealed shut.

“Thank you, Treia!” he said, then seated himself back on the throne. A quick cast of a cantrip cleaned the blood from his clothes, but mending the cuts would have to wait until he had his spells back. Instead Al reached into his bag of holding, then sighed as his hand only touched the canvas bottom. “And if it’s not too much trouble, would you mind making an extra plate of your horrible mush tonight? I seem to have locked myself out of anything edible, so I suppose I’ll have to settle.”

* * *

Camp was made in the throne room that night. Al claimed the throne itself as his bed by right of conquest and excuse of his bedroll being stuck in extradimensional storage. So were the others’, but the place had enough cushions and drapery around to make do.

It was impossible to know what time it was when Al woke up again. There were no windows, and both Earl and Daisy were awake. No surprise, given how long they’d slept the night before.

Al may have forgotten about dinner before casting the dimensional lock, but he hadn’t forgotten his scroll. It was one of the two he’d pulled from his bag at the start, and he drew it out now to cast the zone of silence.

“It’s my last scroll, just so you know,” he said into the air. “I never thought I’d need more than three.”

A disembodied voice spoke in Al’s ear. “Oh no! And what will you do tomorrow night?”

“That’s exactly what I wanted to talk about.” With a sigh, Al sat up and pulled his lute into his lap. His fingers strummed out an idle tune for no particular reason but to act as an excuse. Earl and Daisy looked up at the motion, then went back to sharpening knives and reading a book respectively. “Your illusion. Can you make it look like me?”

“Easily. When do you want to make the swap?”

“As soon as we make camp. You won’t have any trouble acting the part?”

“No more trouble than you’ll have getting away.”

“Then it’s settled!” That was that, and Al could get to the real reason he’d wanted to talk, but first he started on a tangent. “If I’m going to teach you to play, I need to know how much you know. I heard your spell the first day. You’re no amateur musician.”

“I know the theory,” Alastor said, and Al could almost see the smile on his face. “But Hell isn’t exactly brimming with woodworkers and metalsmiths. Most of our instruments were anything we could find to bang together.”

Al played a set of basic chords as his smile softened. It was all the proof he needed. “I’d be happy to teach you. It’s the least I can do after—“

“Shh!”

The hiss in his ear startled Al into looking up just as Daisy stepped into the radius of his spell. “Do you mind if I listen?” she asked.

“Not at all,” Al lied, and she took a seat on the floor and leaned back against the throne, still reading her book. Al played on, a random cheery tune from an old bar song, and internally he cursed her in every language he knew. If she’d only waited a minute he would’ve gotten his confirmation, but he could still use her.

“Have you ever heard of doppelgängers?” he asked after a few songs had passed.

Daisy nodded. “I’ve heard the songs, and I know they’re not just stories. I once knew someone who met hers. She lost a leg and an eye before she finally killed the thing.”

“How?”

“Arrow through the neck while it was trying to poison her family. That was a long conversation.”

“Hm.” Al played on for a few seconds then asked again. “They’re always evil, then? Why?”

“That’s. . . That’s what the books say. They’re a soul that was split down the middle, all the good on one side, all the evil on the other.” Daisy was still hesitant, though, frowning as she looked across the room.

“But?” Al prompted.

“But we’re not archons or demons. There’s no such thing as a human who’s pure good or evil. Anyone can change, but sometimes. . .sometimes you don’t have time to wait for them.”

“Time, eh?” Alastor whispered, and even over Al’s playing Daisy picked it up.

“Did you say something?”

“Just shifted,” Al said, biting down the rush of bitterness. Even if it was just Alastor whispering in his ear, he’d prefer that over nothing. Soon, though. Soon he wouldn’t have to make excuses or dodge around his companions, not unless he wanted to.

* * *

The last floors of the tower were sparsely populated, but the demons there were strong. None of them were more powerful than Leitharia, but nor were they afraid to live above her, closer to Alastor and the magics at the top of the tower. Earl had complained the day before that they were waiting for Al instead of continuing the climb with the three of them. By noon he’d gone silent, not even starting it up again when the demons started to thin out and be replaced by broken skeletons. Or maybe it was because of the skeletons.

There were only two demons on the ninety-second floor, and both clearly dared go no higher. With the last obstacles out of the way, there was nothing to do but return to safe ground and prepare. Camp was set on the ninetieth floor, and the rest of the evening was spent discussing strategy and spells. After an hour Al sighed and excused himself to get a breath of fresh air.

“I’ve been adventuring solo for years,” he said at the inevitable complaints. “I’m only going for a walk, I can cast Dimension Door if I find trouble, and  _ I _ know how to take care of myself.” A glance at the pot of food they’d looked away from to argue with him settled that, and he slipped out the door with no one following. It was barely a minute before Alastor appeared beside him and matched his pace.

“Dimension Door, huh?” he said. “It makes my job that much easier. I think fifteen minutes from now you’ll pop into the room, tell them, ‘See?’ and play a song before going to bed.”

“Oh? Can you manage a song?”

Alastor turned to smile at Al. “I can if I have a model.”

“Then allow me to oblige!”

It was several floors up on the ninety-fourth that Alastor stopped and guided him into a surprisingly well-furnished sitting room. Candlesticks sat on the tables, and a snap from Alastor filled the room with light as the sun set outside. The couches were dusty and old, but a few spells took care of the former, and the latter only meant a few soft creaks as they sat.

“So, what’s the plan?” Al said. “I play a song for you to copy, and then what? I’ll still need to sleep at some point.”

“Are you sure?” Alastor leaned in close. “It’s your last night of free will. Do you really want to spend it sleeping?”

Al leaned in to match. “And what about you? I haven’t made a study of demons’ sleep patterns, but every caster needs rest to recover their spells. I don’t know how powerful these illusions are, but it’d be a shame if that was what made the difference.”

For a while, they stared at each other, and Alastor was the first to move. “A short song then,” he said and leaned back on the couch. “After that, we sleep, and after  _ that, _ I believe you had something to ask me.”

“No,” Al said and set his lute in his lap.

“No?”

“I already know the answer.” He turned away before Alastor could ask again and started up a cheery tune that brooked no argument.

* * *

It was a soothing feeling, waking up on his own with no one to tell him to go on watch. Nobody forcing their lives into his hands and getting upset if he didn’t want them. It was a feeling Al had gotten used to in his solo travels, and he’d forgotten how much it chafed to go without.

But now there was no one here but Alastor. The demon lay on the room’s other couch, his outline barely visible in the moonlight through the window. His chest moved up and down as he breathed, and for the first time, Al wondered if the illusions followed Alastor’s own movements. If every time the illusion spoke or leaned in or reached out to almost touch, Alastor was doing the same. Slowly, as if noticing he was being observed, Alastor opened his eyes, and for the first time, Al saw that they did glow. The soft red light was just enough to show the edge of Alastor’s smile as it widened from small and sleepy to his usual grin.

“Awake already?” Alastor said, and Al nodded.

“What time is it?”

“The middle of the night. Your fighter just started her watch.”

It really was the exact middle of the night then, but Al couldn’t bring himself to go back to sleep. “Alastor,” he said. “When did you start working on the Tower?”

“I’ve been studying it for almost a century, but I started my work on it twenty-four years ago.”

Twenty-four years. Al would have been three then. Three years old and already hearing Alastor’s chorus in his dreams. Enough time to change, indeed.

“So it  _ was _ you,” he said. “My muse, all along.” No mysterious shadow at the top of the tower, just his doppelgänger. His other half. It made a twisted sort of sense. Their souls were attuned as few ever were. Of course he’d heard Alastor’s song through the Tower, even when no one else could. It had been Alastor from the start, introducing him to the twin concepts of music and magic. Introducing him to more than that, if Daisy could be believed.

Alastor sat up and patted the seat next to him. “So you finally realized,” he said as Al walked over. “What’s the plan now? Would you knowingly enslave your own muse?”

The couch was warm where Al sat, and he leaned back to savor it against the chill of night and altitude on the upper floors. “You have only yourself to blame. You’re not giving me a choice, and I won’t let you dominate me without a fight.”

“But how else would I keep you from running off?”

Al let out a deep sigh. “Oh, if only there was a way. . .”

“What if there was? I think I could convince you.” The couch creaked as Alastor shifted, rising to his knees to hover over Al. His hand drifted up, barely an inch from Al’s forehead. “One spell. Not Dominate.”

Alastor’s fingers were blacker than black, silhouetted against the red of his eyes. Al let his own slide closed as he took a long, slow breath. “What school?” he finally asked.

“Divination.”

Not enchantment or illusion. Divination meant mind reading or telepathy, neither of which was harmful on its own, and somehow Al knew the demon was telling the truth. “Do it,” Al whispered.

But when those fingers touched his skin, Al’s eyes flew open as the blood froze in his veins. It was real. No illusion. Alastor was here, leaning closer as Al realized the truth, warm against the cold, and Al should’ve known, should’ve known, should’ve known. Every sign had pointed to it, and now there was no choice but to let the demon do whatever he wanted. Al could get away. He could chant the words to Dimension Door while Alastor cast his divination, but that was no choice. Never mind trying to explain himself to his party, there were layers and layers of implication hanging over this moment. An end to the impasse. A way for them to end the day with both their wills their own.

There was no choice but to reach up, wrap his hand around Alastor’s wrist, and meet his gaze. No hesitation, even as his breath came fast and shallow. “Do it,” he gasped, and Alastor did. Al heard a few words in an alien tongue and winced as he expected the magic to start scanning his thoughts, but instead, his vision blurred. He could still see the red of Alastor’s eyes, but overlaid on them were his own, blinking wildly as he tried to focus the double-vision. Alastor’s hand pulled out of his slack grip and moved to his shoulder, but when Al tried to follow it, the wrong set of eyes moved. He saw himself flinch at the sudden vertigo then close his eyes before it could make him sick.

“You’ll get used to it soon enough,” Alastor said and patted Al’s shoulder before getting up.

The room was bright in Alastor’s eyes but oddly red cast. Darkvision. It was the last hint Al needed to process what happened. “Do you see what I see too?”

Alastor turned to look at him, and Al couldn’t help but tense. He was no stranger to being observed, but now he could see the exact course of Alastor’s eyes across him. They traced the curve of his neck, followed the rise and fall of his chest—still much too fast—and focused on his closed eyes. “Right now, no!” Alastor said. “You’ll need to open your eyes for that.”

Alastor’s vision bobbed as he talked, a sure sign of gestures Al was missing out on. Al took a deep breath and a slow exhale, then turned toward Alastor’s voice. Alastor’s view helped correct the angle, and when Al opened his eyes it was easy to keep them from wandering. There was no better focus than Alastor’s eyes, two bright points of red in the darkness, but Alastor knew it too.

“No, that’s too easy, I think,” he said, and a snap of his fingers lit a nearby candle. Alastor hummed as he picked it up and did a circuit of the room, lighting candles in every corner and filling the room with swirls of light and color. There was the tan of wood, the light gray stone of the walls, and the faded blues and pinks of old fabric, and all of them spun like a kaleidoscope as Alastor moved. There was only one stable island through it all, the bright, bright red in the center of Al’s vision.

There was no point trying to conceal his attention, and Al didn’t have the focus for it anyway. His eyes wandered as they pleased, from Alastor’s hand around the candle, to the fit of his shirt around his wrist, to the brocade lining his tunic, to the sway of his hair as he nodded along to his tune.

“You know,” Alastor said eventually. “This is the first time I’ve used this spell on someone who wasn’t terrified of me. They react better when they can see everything I’m doing to them, but this is fascinating.” Alastor lit the last candle and set the original down before turning back to Al. “There’s so much to be said for knowing the exact line you’re following.”

Alastor waved his hand in a circle before touching it to his chest, and Al followed its path up to Alastor’s mouth, filled with sharp teeth, then back again to the red of his eyes. “But why this?” he asked. “Why not read my mind?”

“Why? Because Mind Reading only lasts a minute, and surface thoughts are so simple. This has much more potential.”

With those words, Alastor walked over and dropped back onto the couch, wrapping his arm around Al’s shoulders. There was an echo of the same panic from before—the knowledge that Al had willingly and unwittingly let a powerful demon in close enough to kill him—but sharper than that was the old discomfort. The irritation at being touched, at someone else controlling his space, at being caught so off balance that he hadn’t so much as tried to shrug it off. Well no more. Before Al could second guess himself, he was moving, escalating the matter in the very first way that came to mind.

The room spun as he turned, but Al was finally getting used to the double-vision, and he could definitely get used to the way Alastor’s gaze danced across him. From his face, suddenly close, to his arms penning in Alastor’s, to his legs straddled across Alastor’s lap, then back up as Al’s breathing sped up again. This was a mistake. Immediately he knew it was a mistake. He was going too far, giving the wrong impression, provoking a demon who could still cast Dominate. Al blinked and stared over Alastor’s shoulder before pulling his gaze back. Just as Al was starting to wonder what possessed him to do this in the first place, Alastor laughed and set his hands on Al’s shoulders.

“You see? Much more entertaining,” he said, and pushed.

It wasn’t hard, but Al wasn’t expecting it, and his foot caught on a rug as he stumbled back. His head hit soft ground, but it kicked up a cloud of dust that had him squinting his eyes and coughing. He could still see Alastor stand though, still see him kneel across his hips and plant his hands on either side of his head.

But there was nothing lascivious in Alastor’s gaze. There was desire, sure, as it traced Al’s throat and took in the sight of him pinned, but it was an oddly welcome one that had Al’s voice pitching slightly into the hysterical.

“Not without a fight, I said! Ha! Now this is a real fight! A pair of casters holding nothing back!”

Alastor chuckled, and that was a sound Al wouldn’t mind hearing again. “A pair of casters preparing for a climactic battle. You’ll forgive me if I don’t go all out just yet.” 

“Of course,” Al said. “You’ll be fighting three powerful adventurers dead set on taking your head. You should save your spells, but I can probably spare a few.”

With a gesture and a verse, the spell was cast, and Alastor leaned closer as he tried to resist. His face was only inches away, his eyes dancing with irritation and joy until they closed and he doubled over with laughter.

“See, that’s the best part of this spell! Even if it—” It was all Al could manage before he was laughing too. No spell, only sympathy and sheer amusement as Alastor looked back up to glare at him. It was a brilliant few seconds of seeing his own delight written clear across his face and the promise of revenge on Alastor’s until all the movement kicked up a second cloud of dust. A series of coughs cut through Al’s laughter and broke his focus, and as the spell ended Alastor rolled off and fell into his own coughing fit. It only raised more dust, and for a minute the two lay there, trying between coughs to cast a spell to clean themselves off and laughing at the madness of it all.

It was a while before Al could gather the breath to talk, but the moment he could, he asked a question. “Alastor, will you do me a favor?”

“Oh?”

Al closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and when they opened they locked on Alastor’s without a trace of hesitation. “I want them gone, now. I want to see all of them dead.” To get it over with and start the ritual that would attune the Tower to Al’s magic. To throw the bodies from its crown and watch the sunrise through two sets of eyes. To let this last forever.

Alastor grinned and took his hand. “I did have quite the stage prepared, but if you’re feeling impatient, we can—“

Al shook his head. “Are you still controlling my illusion?”

“Of course.”

“Then wake it up and repeat after me. If Daisy’s on watch, I can make her listen.”

* * *

It was still dark as the party crept through the halls of the Tower. Progress was slow as they scouted ahead for traps and alarms, and Al was nearly vibrating with impatience. He’d already had to wait an hour for Treia to prepare her spells then find an opportunity to take his double’s place. This slow trek across every floor was downright torturous, but at least Earl was happy.

“Yes! We’re finally doing it my way! Kill the fucker before it even knows we’re there.”

Daisy nodded. “Before it has time to cast spells. Al’s right. Even if it isn’t a prepared caster, we’ll still have the advantage if we can act first, and it can’t scry on us if it’s asleep.”

“Are we sure it is asleep?” Treia asked.

“No, but if he’s not, then there’s no difference between this and what we were planning before. And if he is. . .” Al trailed off, letting each of them weigh the merits on their terms and come to the same conclusion. The chance of a surprise attack was better than no chance of one, even if it meant getting up early.

What a joke.

Al looked up to the ceiling when they reached the top of the staircase, a silent,  _ Alastor, we’re on the ninety-fifth floor. _

Alastor gave a brief nod, then glanced down.  _ I can see that. Keep your eyes on them. _ Today he had no invisible scouts, only Al. If Treia scanned the area for magic and found them, the game would be up, but there was nothing to find. The party made it to the base of the last staircase without incident. Moonlight streamed from the broken ceiling, lining the hallway in pale silver.

“I sense a great evil,” Treia whispered and pointed up through an intact piece of the floor. “It’s there. Not moving.”

“Can you get an eye on it? Either of you?” Daisy looked between Treia and Al while Al desperately tried not to laugh.

“I didn’t prepare Scrying today,” Treia said, and Al shook his head, not trusting his voice.

“Then we’ll just have to go in and hope for the best. Everyone, prepare yourselves.”

This was the crucial moment, and Al muttered the words for Fly under his breath before unstrapping the lute from his back and storing it in his bag. “Al, what are you—?” Daisy started before Al drew forth a different case.

“I’d prefer piano,” he said, “but that’s just impractical. Even this takes both hands, but I won’t need my sword today. Besides, violin suits him.”

“Suits who?” Daisy asked, but Al shushed her as he drew out the bow. A twist of the screw tightened the hairs, and Al was fully aware of Alastor tilting his head and looking curiously through his eyes as Al applied rosin down the length of the bow. Only twice was Al distracted. Once when Treia touched his shoulder and cast Protection from Evil. The second was when he held the bow up to admire the craftsmanship and recognized the next spell Treia cast on herself.

“Deafness? That complicates things. You know my music won’t affect her now.”

“No, but neither will the demon’s.”

“And how are we supposed to communicate? I might manage some interpretive dance, but won’t you be busy swinging your sword?”

Daisy gave Treia a look and a wave of her shield arm, and Treia nodded. “We’ve been working together for years,” Daisy said. “We may not know sign language, but we know each other. Are you ready to go?”

The violin gave off a soft tone as the bow alighted on its strings. “I’ve been ready for hours,” Al said and played the first notes as Daisy sprinted up the stairs. In three bounds she was at the top and looking back over her shoulder.

“What’re you—?”

“Not feeling brave? That’s because this song isn’t for you.” Al drew out a long note, and as he did, everything flipped. Gravity shifted, up became down, and the party fell through the hole in the ceiling and into the night sky. “No, your song is this,” Al said and turned with the gravity. He shifted his fingers and struck a new chord, a discordant one that sent shivers down the spines of his party, or at least the ones who could hear.

And oh, Al could see it clearly—see it through Alastor’s eyes. The very moment Al turned everyone’s world upside down, metaphorically and literally. The moment they were cast from the safety of cover and ground, past the ruined white archways and pillars of the Tower and into open air. It was perfect, like they could fall clear to the moon, delivered to Alastor on a silver platter, but the spell had its limits. Earl grabbed onto a pillar and broke his fall, Daisy pressed a hand to her armor to unfurl a set of glowing wings, and Treia bobbed thirty feet down, caught at the edge of the spell and normal gravity.

“What’s going—?” she started, but it was obvious enough as everyone locked their eyes on Al and he turned to her with a smile. But he could do better. There were gestures anyone with half a brain and half their senses could understand, and Alastor was right there. He’d flipped to match the gravity as well, prepared with his own Fly spell and more. Al drifted over without making eye contact, just elated enough to go through with his idea no matter how ridiculous it was.

“My hands are full or I’d shake,” he muttered. “Sorry. Consider this favor number two.”

It was only as Al looked up that Alastor realized—only as Al’s gaze flicked unconsciously across his mouth—and by then it was too late. Al tilted his head and drifted forward the last few inches to press their lips together, and it was incredible.

Not the kiss. Even chaste as it was, that felt awkward and uncomfortable at best. No, it wasn’t the kiss that had bone-deep joy welling so close to the surface Al thought he might start doing flips. It was the meaning behind it, the willingness to make an exception, the apology Alastor could see in his eyes, and the discomfort, acceptance, affection he could see in Alastor’s. The perfect elegance of the gesture. The finality of the crossroads, of leaving one path and turning so firmly down another that the world itself spun.

It would have been enough that Alastor had leaned down just barely to return the kiss. It would have been enough to send the message and far, far more than Al had ever intended to ask for. It didn’t surprise Al when Alastor’s hand tangled in his hair and pulled him away, but it was only for long enough to mutter the words of a spell. Al never expected Alastor to pull him back in. There was a sharp pain that had him gasping against Alastor’s mouth and his insides twisting in knots seconds before realization set in. There was the taste of blood on his tongue and red across Alastor’s lips when he let go, and Al would have been happy to float there catching his breath and connecting the dots if not for the clang from his side. 

Sparks flew as Daisy’s sword hit an invisible wall, barely a foot from Al’s head. So they were targeting him first. It was no surprise. He was the weaker of himself and Alastor, and there was a personal grudge to settle. Daisy’s glare was furious as she flew off to find the edge of the wall, and Earl wasn’t far behind her, his cloak transformed into a pair of bat wings.

“Don’t get too distracted,” Alastor said as if he wasn’t the one responsible.

“You were right. This is a wonderful stage.”

“A stage is only as good as the show it hosts,” Alastor said, and Al was already raising the violin to his chin.

“You kill the healer,” he said as the first notes of Alastor’s song filled the air.

“Don’t die,” Alastor replied, and he was gone. The Dimension Door took him behind Treia, and already his silhouette was starting to warp. Long black tendrils grew from behind him, and visions of the nightmare flashed through Al’s mind. The shadows at the top of the tower and his demon’s true form. Al wanted to stare forever, but there was no time. Daisy’s sword bounced off the field of magic around Al, but Earl’s dagger stabbed through and sank into his back.

But Al couldn’t allow his play to falter for even a moment. This was Alastor’s song, and it harmonized perfectly with the horrifying tune he’d given them a taste of earlier. Al could see the fear in their eyes and knew that Alastor saw it too, just as Al could see the shadows curling at the edges of Alastor’s vision. Daisy braced herself and shook it off, but Al breathed deep and layered into his play a spell that had only come to him the day before. A deep glow surrounded him, mixed red and gold, and the air trembled with his song.

“You stand in the presence of a bard who has found his muse,” he announced, his voice full of good cheer and laughter and inexorable power. “You  _ will _ applaud.”

A wave of compulsion flowed out, not quite reaching Treia but hitting the two melee fighters dead on. Daisy grit her teeth and resisted, but still it forced her to give him a round of applause before she could gather herself and swing her sword. Al hissed as it cut into his shoulder, and he turned to give her his full attention. Behind him Earl was flapping in place, awestruck and clapping frantically. Al had expected the opposite with how distrustful the rogue was, but this was an outcome he could work with.

“No, you’re right,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’d rather see you dance.”

For just a second he paused his play, just long enough to press a hand to Daisy’s shield. It earned him a slash across his arm in return, but he could feel the spell take hold as he pulled away. The moment his bow was back on the violin, Daisy was spinning in place, waving her sword and shield through the air in what might generously be called a dance.

Al took that as his chance to get away. For a moment he let go and let gravity drop him past the line where it flipped, past the layer of dust and floating rubble stuck in the boundary. To his left was a deep well of shadows, a pure black that didn’t reflect moonlight, only visible because it blocked out the stars. Alastor’s view wasn’t much clearer, a breathtaking whirl of black and crimson. There were glimpses of Treia’s bloodied form, then glints of light as she continued to cast spells. One glint coincided with a wave of pain that made Al grit his teeth and weakened his grip on his violin. His fingers slipped but Al forced them back in place. No matter what, the song wouldn’t stop, but he did shoot a glare into the shadows, hoping that would get his point across. Kill her already.

Down below, Earl snapped out of his applauding, but now Daisy was the one enchanted. She followed Al with an ungainly attempt at a flying pirouette, but Al was too busy thinking to mock it. He’d done a decent job thus far of keeping the fighters at bay, but he’d taken too many hits in the process. He needed to keep it up, needed to heal, needed to find an opening and deal some damage in return. He had spells on his tongue for each, but not the time or the space to cast them all. If Alastor could help. . .

Al looked at the mass of shadows as the possibilities sank in. There was a reason adventurers rarely worked alone, especially casters, and  _ especially _ bards. Al’s spells were meant to help his allies, whether by empowering them or debilitating their enemies, and finally,  _ finally, _ there was someone Al wanted to help.

‘Don’t die.’ The words rang through Al’s head, and he knew what he had to do. He needed to stay alive, no matter if he didn’t do a single shred of damage to the fighters.

There was a spell that was perfect for the situation, and Al played the tune as he flipped back into the gravity well, away from Earl and Daisy. Waves of psychic force rushed out as he finished and the spell settled around him. Repulsion. As long as it lasted, it would push back against anyone who tried to step closer. Between the spell and being forced to dance in flight, Daisy couldn’t get close enough to swing her sword, let alone flank for Earl. Al smiled at the well-laid magics falling into place.

But Earl’s movement wasn’t so impaired. It was a struggle to get through the repulsion and reach Al, but without a distraction to cover for him, he only scored a scratch. “You goddamn demon fucker,” he hissed. “We should’ve never trusted you.”

For a second the words almost threw Al off balance. Oh. This time he really had given the wrong impression, and the incident with the succubus couldn’t have helped. Still, he gathered himself to reply in elven.

“No, you shouldn’t have. It takes a special kind of soul, I think, to have enough evil stripped from it to have a demon for a doppelgänger and still turn out this way. You should join Daisy,” he finished and cast the spell again. Uncontrollable Dance. He could see Earl resisting, pushing more of it off than Daisy had managed, but it was enough. I would still leave him slow enough that he could only make shaky, awkward flaps in Al’s direction, barely making headway against the repulsion. Immediately Al took advantage to float back and heal himself. It didn’t undo all the damage, not in one spell, but now he wasn’t a solid cut away from going down. Now he could fight back.

But Earl and Daisy shared a nod and turned away. It’d be futile to pursue Al across the sky, so instead they looked to Alastor, and Al couldn’t allow that. No. Absolutely not. Not anymore. The bow shrieked across his violin as he opened his mouth. A high, piercing scream had them wincing, screaming, staggering, struggling not to cover their ears, but it wasn’t enough. Neither of them fell, and Al bared his teeth and quickened his play. Shadows curled from his hand with every note, reaching out to stab at Earl, the less hardy of the two.

But Earl didn’t go down, and his dagger stabbed into the darkness along with Daisy’s sword. The shadows writhed, and for the first time, Al could see hints of Alastor in their shape. It moved the same way he did, the same abrupt but fluid gestures, and there was a glint of red eyes in the black. Treia was there too, caught within the tendrils and still struggling weakly.

“Alastor! Don’t die!” Al shouted. Not now, not when Al had finally found someone whose death he might truly regret. For a moment it was as if the world paused and all eyes turned to him.

There was surprise from Earl and Daisy, but of course there was. They didn’t know Alastor’s name. More importantly, there was the slight tremor of the shadows that could have been nothing other than a laugh. His eyes were on Al too, along with the yellow sickle of his grin. Al could see himself in them, see his own genuine, wide-eyed concern and the fury that his enemies had dared harm Alastor. He almost wanted to look away and hide it, but there was no turning away from the fight.

Then the moment passed, and it was Alastor who looked away instead.

The shadows let Treia go as he drifted away, and for a moment Al wondered why. Alastor was leaving their cleric with her allies around her, perfectly positioned to heal them all, but a glance at the floor far above forced Al to realize his mistake. Alastor had remembered what Al hadn’t, and Al quickly flew to join him.

Al had been right. The positioning was perfect, but not for Treia. “Together?” Alastor asked, and Al let his violin speak for him. Shadows rushed out, twining through and around each other, rising into waves and monstrous shapes and drawing out an old, primal fear of the dark as they tore through the party, just as Al’s first spell reached its minute mark and vanished. Earl and Daisy were showered with dust as gravity returned to normal, but Treia had no such luck. Treia who hadn’t had a chance to cast Fly or activate items, Treia who’d already been on her last legs before the shadows’ assault. She fell to the floor, back to the staircase where they’d started, bounced, and didn’t move.

“They’ll try to heal her,” Al muttered, and Earl was already flying down, potion in hand, but the dance made him slow. By the time he’d landed, spells were already raining down from up above.

Maybe Daisy realized the futility of it all, one on two and still enchanted to dance. Maybe that was why she opted to go out fighting. Her wings glowed bright as she twirled up into the sky, but her choice was hardly any better. By the time the dance wore off, she was already paralyzed and caught in Alastor’s shadows while he and Al exchanged banter.

“’Alastor, don’t die?’” The demon laughed at the memory. “Did you think the three of them could kill me, even if they weren’t already weakened, even if I didn’t have you oh so desperate to murder them for me?”

Al ignored the question entirely in favor of casting a healing spell. “How did you possibly manage to take so long to kill the cleric?” he asked as the last of his cuts sealed and he turned to Alastor’s.

“What do you mean?” Alastor said. “I was taking my time. Having fun. You looked like you were too. It was a lovely dance party you’d enchanted for yourself before this one felt the need to leave and interrupt mine. But I’m always happy to entertain an insistent guest.”

The shadows writhed, and Daisy screamed as more blood dripped from her armor. The tendrils twisting beneath it were surely killing her, but Alastor was making her death slow and agonizing. Besides the amount of blood, there had been no change at all in the last minute.

“Don’t take too long,” Al said, “or we’ll miss the sunrise.”

“Fair enough. It’s less interesting when they’re wearing armor anyway. You can’t see the mess.” Alastor tapped a claw to her breastplate with a soft  _ tink, _ then let the shadows swirl around her. With a last scream, Daisy went limp and clattered to the ground.

And that was it. The Tower fell silent. The two stood alone as the wind whistled between its columns and the eastern sky began to lighten. Alastor licked the blood from his hands, and Al found himself staring until Alastor paused and looked his way. There was a brief vision of Alastor holding his hand out for Al to join him, to have a taste, and Al turned away before it could show on his face. Before it could become a reality, before his stomach could do any more flips, he walked to the edge of the ruin and looked out over the darkness of the plains.

The wind was stronger here, swirling around the sides of the tower and pulling at the edges of Al’s tunic. He hadn’t noticed it during the fight, but he was shivering now. The thin cotton of his shirt wasn’t nearly enough to keep him warm.

“You get used to it,” Alastor said, wrapping his arms around Al from behind. 

Al couldn’t help but tense, even though he’d seen Alastor coming. The adrenaline from the fight hadn’t left yet, and only the edge of the Tower kept him from trying to pull away. A list of magics scrolled through Al’s head, spells he could use to escape the grapple, but it didn’t matter. He reached the end and let it fade away with a sigh. The moment had passed, and instead of casting Dominate, Al hadn’t thought twice before using his spells on healing himself and Alastor. There was nothing for it now. No more turning traitor, only acceptance and the path he’d chosen.

“Sunrise won’t be for a while yet. I can wait inside,” he said anyway. It wouldn’t do to give in too easily, for dignity’s sake.

“I want you to get used to it,” Alastor said, only holding him tighter. He probably meant the cold. They couldn’t work on the Tower if Al couldn’t stay outside long enough to complete the rituals. He probably meant the cold and left the statement open just to throw Al off, but it was impossible to be sure.

But, Al decided, it wouldn’t be all bad if he’d meant something else. Alastor’s warmth took off the worst of the wind’s bite, and it was easy to act like he enjoyed it. Al’s head leaned back on Alastor’s shoulder, and he didn’t fail to notice the slight narrowing of Alastor’s eyes as Al took back a measure of control.

“Could you let go of my arms at least?” he asked. “I want to play your song again. Properly this time.”

No dirge of doom overlaid. No spells threaded into the melody. Just the song itself, horrifyingly beautiful enough on its own. Alastor wrapped his arms around Al’s chest instead and looked over Al’s shoulder to watch his fingers dance across the strings. The melody filled the night air, and, perfect as it was alone, Al caught himself humming along anyway. He looped back to the start when it was over, and this time Alastor joined in too. Whether it was inspiration or fluke or nothing but favoritism, Alastor’s voice suited his song perfectly, and it was so close, right next to Al’s ear.

It was tempting when the song ended again to restart it, but Al transitioned into an old ballad instead, and from there to a bar medley then a serenade. Midway through the last Al’s fingers faltered, and he flexed his hands to realize he could barely feel them. His fingers were as cold as ice. How odd when the rest of him felt so warm.

Al’s humming went quiet at the realization, and as the music stopped Alastor reached out to take Al’s hands in his and pull them close. The angle was awkward with Al still holding the violin and bow, and Alastor’s hands were almost painfully warm after the cold, but before Al could complain, Alastor spotted a glint of gold on the horizon. Al looked up and focused, aligning it in their eyes.

“Forget the lute. You’ll have to teach me this one,” Alastor said, and Al grinned. It was just something more to look forward to.

The sun was dazzling from so high up, clear and untouched by the morning mist swirling across the plains. Al leaned forward, safe so long as Alastor held onto him, and he could see the line of sunrise start to creep down the Tower.

He felt the shift even before Alastor moved, a spark in the air like fate gathering to mandate a course of action. This time they didn’t resist, and Al was ready. In a split second, he’d shifted his footing. Alastor let go and pushed, and Al turned around, dropped his bow, and grabbed hold of Alastor’s wrist. Momentum pulled them off the tower, and there was a breathless moment of vertigo as both of them realized they were falling.

It passed in an instant, and then there was laughter, nothing but laughter as one of them—Al wasn’t sure who—saw the sun dipping back below the distant hills. A spell for flight was on both their lips, and it was a dizzying, spinning mess as they caught their fall just past the shadow of the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first saw this week of prompts there was a moment of resignation. Like great, now I have to write this, don't I? I've got an excuse and everything! I'm not just that crazy person shipping selfcest. I'm _one of_ those crazy people shipping selfcest, and damn if I'm not going to do a good job of it!
> 
> As far as I can tell (and it's entirely possible I screwed up somewhere) everything in this fic that I didn't intentionally fudge or handwave with ~*Tower Magic*~ is 2e legal, down to action economy and characters being low level enough to not get a bonus against incapacitation spells (lvl 16 vs lvl 8 Uncontrollable Dance for example.) I had a lot of Archives of Nethys tabs open for research.

**Author's Note:**

> The single worst thing about writing this ship is managing names.
> 
> Second chapter will be up tomorrow. I had to split it since this got way too long.


End file.
